


Lying Awake

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4618608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Aramis is sick. And then Porthos is sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lying Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr as a drabble request fill, which you can find [here](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/post/127171354962/drabble-is-this-for-anyone-i-do-love-your). The second is a sequel to the other but I'm adding them both to this one 'chapter' just for the sake of easy reading.

Porthos has spent the last five years learning the mechanics of Aramis’ tendencies. He tends to prefer his pistol to any other weapon, he tends to first fix his hair and then his mustache when making himself look presentable, he tends to hum to himself when mending one of Porthos’ shirts. He also tends to be overdramatic in all things – a slight scratch on his cheek will leave him cringing and carrying on until Porthos favors him with attention, a stubbed toe is a grand production, a cold the end of the world, a sore muscle a tragedy. 

Porthos knows it’s a bad sickness when the whining stops. He realizes it’s more serious than originally expected when Aramis’ response to Porthos’ teasing is for him to curl up into himself, duck beneath the covers, and shiver out a chattering little, “I’ll be alright.” 

(An Aramis with a cold would say something more like, “I’ll be alright – don’t worry about me, just go and have fun and I’ll just stay here and die.”) 

It’s enough for Porthos to search out an extra blanket to drape over him as Aramis shivers. “Hey,” he says, quiet, “You need anything?”

Aramis mumbles something and then curls up further, miserable. Porthos sighs out and sits down at the edge of the bed and rubs at his back. Aramis makes a soft, whimpering sound – squirming at first as if to move away from him and then thinks better of it and just stays still as Porthos strokes his hand. 

“Don’t want you to get sick, too,” Aramis mumbles miserably into the pillow. 

“I’ll be fine,” Porthos dismisses. (Three days later he’ll regret saying this when he has to deal with a ridiculous mother-hen hounding over him and his newly acquired cold.) “So, you need anything?”

“A kiss,” Aramis mumbles. Porthos indulges him by leaning down and kissing the back of his neck. Surprisingly – or perhaps unsurprisingly – Aramis settles after that. He keeps his eyes shut, barely moves and barely asks for anything – another indication of a deeper sickness when he can’t even whine about being cold or wanting something to eat. 

Porthos sticks with him through the night, rubbing his back and petting his hair – just keeping an eye on him. If Aramis weren’t so sick, it would be around this time that he would start dramatically letting Porthos know that he will never be beautiful again and he should go on without him. He’d then start to whine until Porthos reassured him. 

In the spirit of those usual antics and in light of their absence, Porthos ducks his head down and informs a sleeping, snoring, snotty Aramis, “You’re the prettiest man in all of Paris.” 

Aramis doesn’t respond, as he’s asleep, but if he were awake he would appreciate the sentiment. 

 

-

 

“Porthos, you really should eat something.”

His answer is a grunt.

“Porthos, you should have something to drink.”

Another grunt.

“Porthoooooos,” Aramis whispers, running his hands over the unhappy lump curled up in the bed, blanket fisted around him and covering him from view. He doesn’t shake him, but his voice does take on a noticeable whine. “Porthoooooooooooooooos.”

“Damn it,” Porthos mutters, miserably, rolls over so he can peek his head out from underneath the blanket. “I said I’m fine. Stop nagging.” 

Aramis sniffs, but feels charitable and so just kisses the forehead of his incredibly cranky and sick friend. Porthos makes a distinctly uncharitable sound in response and goes back to looking miserable. 

So far, it doesn’t seem like anything serious – similar to Aramis’ own illness. This is just as well – if it becomes worse than this, Aramis knows his cheerful teasing will become something a little more understated, a little more worried. Porthos so rarely gets sick, this much is worrying on its own. 

“Porthos,” he says, quieter, and helps guide Porthos’ head up into a proper sitting position so he can give him something to drink. Porthos grumbles, feverish and sweaty to the touch. 

“Stop worrying so much,” Porthos mutters, but sounds miserable and stuffed-up. 

Aramis strokes his fingers through his hair, helping him settle back down again. “You’ll be alright.” 

He means it to be comforting, but even like this, Porthos cracks one eye open to give him an assessing look. And then sighs and relents, patting Aramis’ wrist gently. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

**Author's Note:**

> [ye olde tumblr](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com) for any of your ailments or needs. :P


End file.
